


A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by somniumfaults



Series: Assorted Ensemble Stars CGL Fics [1]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, EDITED: July 9th 2020, Forced Infantilism, Implied Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Sexual Age Play, Stockholm Syndrome, i was gonna make it sexual but like it didn't get there so, implied stockholm syndrome, this fic is a fucking mess god I need to revise it sometime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somniumfaults/pseuds/somniumfaults
Summary: Mitsuru doesn't remember much nowadays. But that's okay. Daddy always says that all he has to worry about is the here and now, where he's nothing else but Daddy's little boy.
Relationships: Mikejima Madara/Tenma Mitsuru
Series: Assorted Ensemble Stars CGL Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575241
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> I had another fic lined up to post before this one but lol it's like. not done yet so take this fic I wrote on impulse. I didn't think I was ever gonna write madamitsu since I haven't had a personal vested interest in it for a long time, but I'm back in it babey. Madara is just too good nasty material to NOT use him as fic fuel.

Mitsuru doesn’t remember much these days. Every minute, every hour, every day is a blur of colors and idle activities littered with cooing words of adoration. He doesn’t remember what life was like before this, before Madara was his everything. He doesn’t remember a time before Madara was all encompassing, before he was _Daddy_.

What he does remember is the constant thrum underneath his skin, itching and begging for release. It leaves him fidgeting, shifting every other moment. There are times at which it gets almost painful even, with his body screaming to do _something_ and yet physically being unable to do anything. Mitsuru remembers that. He still endures it to this day, but that’s okay. Daddy always knows and helps him when it gets to that point. Daddy knows everything after all.

“Hey, cutie! Is my little bun ready to get up and eat his lunch now?”

Mitsuru's heart swells at the latter endearment. He always loves when Daddy calls him ‘bun’. He isn’t sure why he loves that specific name so much, can’t remember anything that would leave such a pleasantly warm association with the word, but he figures it’s probably because it came from Daddy. He loves Daddy.

Mitsuru blinks up at Madara from where he lays on his playmat and gurgles out the closest noise to an affirmation that he can possibly make, tongue heavy in his mouth. He makes the strenuous effort of heaving his arms up towards Madara and the other laughs, cooing down at him in response as he swiftly lifts up his baby boy with ease.

“Of course you are,” He hums. “We both know bunnies can’t stay still for very long, can they? And baby bunnies especially have to have Mama feed them often!”

Mitsuru doesn’t bother responding to the playful words and instead uses his limited physical energy to fist Madara’s shirt in his hands, burrowing his face into the warm fabric. He loves when Daddy carries him on his hip like he is now. It gives him the freedom to swing his legs back and forth, something he doesn’t often have the energy or ability to do when swaddled in his crib or laying in his playpen. The movement was nice––an indirect way of getting rid of the undercurrent of restlessness that constantly plagued him. It’s only made better by the fact that Madara is so _warm_. Mitsuru doesn’t understand why he recoils so strongly from the cold nowadays when he doesn’t think he remembers fearing the cold before but… He doesn’t have to understand. Daddy always tells him that he doesn’t have to worry about anything at all. All he has to remember and worry about is the here and now as Daddy’s little baby boy.

Before Mitsuru knows it, they’re in the kitchen and he’s buckled snugly into his high chair. It’s cold, and he doesn’t like it, but he knows that if he pitches a fit over it then Daddy’s not going to be happy. He dislikes being in trouble even more than the cold, because being in trouble _hurts_ , so he doesn’t pitch a fit like he wants to. Instead, he sits there pouting at the loss of Madara’s warmth and gnaws on his fist. He preoccupies himself with wondering what happened between being picked up and being buckled into his seat. It was a big blank space in his memory, as if he hadn’t experienced the movement at all. That was normal though, and Mitsuru had learned with time that there was no point in worrying about it. He made it one of his few pastimes instead, coming up with colorful and fantastical situations of what could have happened between point A and point B.

The grating sound of a chair being dragged back against the floor is what brings him back to Earth, combined with the sound of Madara sighing and gently tugging Mitsuru’s fist from his mouth. In his other hand he holds a bottle, filled with a milky liquid that Mitsuru had learned to get used to with time. One of the few things he _does_ remember clearly from his memories is how vividly he used to hate the formula, refusing to eat it unless Madara forced him to or he was starving. He remembers thinking how it tasted so funny with its bitter aftertaste, and not like milk should taste at all. Nowadays though, he doesn’t mind the taste in the slightest. In fact, he actively looks forward to seeing what flavor Daddy had chosen for him for that day.

“Seems like a little bunny dropped his paci,” Madara notes with amusement, setting down the bottle in favor of wiping down the saliva-coated fingers he had just pried away. “We’ll have to wash it so you can use it after sleepytime, hm, Mitsuru? C’mere.”

He hefts Mitsuru out of the children’s chair and into his lap effortlessly, and Mitsuru grins at the change in positions. He much prefers this to being fed in the highchair... and Madara seemed to know that too, because his expression turns warm and he nuzzles Mitsuru in response to the boy’s happiness. They stay like that for a brief moment, before Mitsuru begins to squirm and forces an end to the brief moment of peace. He tries to bring his fingers back up to his mouth to suck on, only for Madara to tug them away again and pop the nipple of the bottle into his mouth as a replacement.

The taste of the formula on Mitsuru’s tongue calms him down a bit and he leans into Madara’s embrace once again, allowing the warmth of both the milk and his caretaker to wash over him. He feels safe and at peace, eyes drifting closed with the soothing repetition of sucking on the bottle. The more he drinks the more he can feel his thoughts getting cloudy and his awareness of his surroundings becoming more and more muddled, but it doesn’t scare him anymore. Daddy’s already assured him that everything will be fine as long as he’s there, and so as he begins to float further and further away from his body, Mitsuru allows himself to be taken away to the sound of his Daddy’s voice.

“Small, little Mitsuru… so cute and fragile… and all mine now.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos, comment, and subscribe if you'd like to see more of my content!
> 
> Follow my (new and shiny!) writing account @somniumfaults on twitter! I post fic updates, exclusive drabbles, and take requests there.
> 
> You can also find me over at my main @dreamysedation!


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